Collection loss

his glasses on
the nightstand
under his window
to the world
his wife was
still alive
when they
were new
and he swears
her image still
swims in the lens
now and then
but he doesn't
wish to look back
in his departure
he knows he has
gathered all his
life in a tightly knitted
though worn out rug
on the floor
of his mind
he's sat there often
enjoying the varied hues
and intricate pattern
when the nurses
only saw
a despondent patient
sitting in silence
he knew that the rug
would have to go
and had started already
with its unraveling threads
and the swimming image
of his wife in the lens
of his glasses
well that would also go
he would become
her new sea to swim
until one by one
each of his drops
would rise into the clouds
of all those before
he was ready to unravel
ready to evaporate
and rain down once more
and like his window
to the world
he was ready to shatter
in a late July storm